Shard
by Sayaka-sama
Summary: Due to his chronic inability to remember important dates, or when significant events occurred, Deidara can't pinpoint the last time he cried into his pillow. DeiTobi 776word drabble.


**Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own Naruto.**

**A/N: -sigh- I try to write fluff and this is this angstfest I hack up instead… Kiddies, this is what happens when you read Naruto Chap. 330 one time too many.**

**Shard ******

Due to his chronic inability to remember important dates, or when certain significant events occurred, Deidara can't pinpoint the last time he cried into his pillow.

Hell, he can't even remember the last time he _cried_.

It was a common habit of his when he was a kid, when he still lived in a shitsack orphanage in the Stone Village. He was a wolf among sheep, too eccentric for the other children's liking, and over-obsessed with the clay in his hands. They taunted him to no end, and at the end of the day, he couldn't help but weep in submission to his mental feebleness.

He was hard-hearted now, a natural-born killer. The matter of sorrow and tears holds no interest to him anymore, which is most likely the reason behind his reluctance to recall the nights he spent sleeping on a soaked pillow.

Most of the kids who hurt him wound up dying anyway by the time he was sixteen, their bodies and limbs and blood scattered wonderfully on the soil before him.

Now, _that_ he could remember.

Someone entered his room.

"Sempai?"

Him. Tobi. The dumbass who plagued him day and night, with his uppity demeanor and childish excitement and his incredibly _irritating _eagerness to please the people around him.

"Whaddya want?"

"We're leaving soon." There was a spark of anticipation in his voice. They were given the assignment of tracking down an ex-acquaintance of the Leader. What he did to earn a death issue from the man was beyond Deidara, but he wouldn't dare pry for an explanation anytime soon. True, he was a bit of a daredevil, but he knew where the line was drawn.

This retard was still hyped up anyway.

"One second, un."

Deidara finished packing up his specialty clay and stepped past the doorframe of his shared room.

He wondered why he ever deemed Tobi worthy of the left side of his bed.

VVVVVVVVVV

His mask remained plastered to his face, even though the bottom half and strap were both missing.

The skin on his fair cheeks and scarred hands and lithe arms are mottled and bruised.

The yawning gap where his pectorals should be spews forth a new wave of crimson, but he doesn't sense it. Not anymore.

Deidara runs his fractured fingers through his grimy bangs.

Shit. They were expecting an ambush, but... not an entire fucking _brigade_.

He can't tear his eyes away from his chest. What should be his chest, but isn't. This mangled, tattered chasm that used to be his chest.

He kneels down and traces the jagged crack in his mask, the curve of his still cheekbone. His hand descends to the broken skin of his bottom lip, trying to swipe up his taste with his fingertips.

It's cold.

Despite the rustic pain in his knees, Deidara stands up.

He breathes, let's his eyes linger on his porcelain mask.

Zetsu will have to take care of this.

He has to report back soon.

He can't move for a while.

At last he steps forward, kneels down over him one last time, and he is gone.

Zetsu can clean everything up.

He took what was left of his mask anyway.

VVVVVVVVVV

It's there; the mask is there, on his nightstand.

He's awake and he stares at it.

For God's sake, he just wants to sleep. Close his eyes and not have to wake up for a few hours or maybe a few days. Hell, he could _die_ for all he cared, anything to make him sleep. He's tired and everything hurts. He only wants to sleep.

The Leader was somewhat miffed to hear that another recruit had gotten himself killed. Not like a missing-nin. Like some petty amateur.

With a long-suffering sigh, he informed Deidara that he would receive his new partner by next Tuesday.

He didn't want one, but he doesn't tell him. He has no say in the matter. It's a done deal.

It won't be the same. He'll probably wind up getting some tight-assed prick, devoid of any emotion, as is custom of people like himself.

Deidara doesn't want that.

He wants _him_.

One thought rides over another, and he notices that for the first time in a long time, he's alone in his bed.

VVVVVVVVVV

Before he can bear to stop himself, he grabs the mask and clings to it, while his pillow drinks in his tears.

VVVVVVVVVV

I'm a horrible, horrible person. TT


End file.
